


The day they went shopping

by OUATgirl



Series: These are the days of our lives [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Book Elements, Emotional violence, Gen, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, In case you haven't noticed I HATE Thaddeus Dowling, Nanny and Francis are Crowley and Zira as per tv canon, Pre-Relationship, She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Slice of Life, Softie Crowley (Good Omens), and then, because Thaddeus is an asshole, got angsty, homophobia tw, male-boy-son my ass, started fluffy, they just love kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:02:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24320257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OUATgirl/pseuds/OUATgirl
Summary: Nanny Ashtoreth goes out shopping with Warlock.They have fun.(read the tags, please. Stuff happens later on, so if you are triggered by mentions of homophobia or emotional violence I advise you to tread carefully)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Nanny Ashtoreth & Warlock Dowling, Nanny Ashtoreth/Brother Francis (Good Omens), Warlock Dowling & Brother Francis
Series: These are the days of our lives [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755730
Comments: 22
Kudos: 161





	The day they went shopping

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because a sunny shopping day with tiny Warlock had been bouncing around in my head for a few days.  
> Started at midnight. Next thing I know, I look up and it's 3 AM.  
> Now. look, a new series!  
> I'm soft for slices of life with these three.  
> Enjoy ;-)

Crowley adjusted her hatpin. Nanny Ashtoreth had standards, after all: she couldn’t walk around with a crooked hat, it would ruin her Aesthetic.

It was her day off. That meant lunch with Aziraphale, or maybe a walk in the park. Sometimes it meant reporting to Head Office. But today was not one of those times. So, she was happy.

Thin rose-tinted lips curled up in a smile in front of the small mirror and she opened the door

to find Harriet Dowling, hand raised, about to knock.

“Mrs. Dowling, good morning.”

“Good morning, Nanny Ashtoreth. I- I’m sorry but I need a favour.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, sure. Well, no, not really. I know it’s your day off, but- can you watch Warlock?”

Crowley tried to not raise an eyebrow, she really, really tried, but some things were stronger than her.

“I know I’m pushing, but,” she looked furtively to the end of the hall, “I need you to.”

She was fidgety. Crowley lowered her voice:

“Mrs. Dowling, what happened?”

“Nothing. It’s just, I got Tad to agree to go to marriage council, today’s the only day he’s home for the next few weeks, so we’re starting today. I just– gossip.”

“I see. Of course I can stay with the boy.” She smiled.

Harriet looked her up and down and suddenly realized:

“You were going out.”

“Yes.” Crowley realized she was expecting her to continue, “shopping.” Rather less fun than her actual plans, but there was enough gossip on her end too.

“Well, maybe you could still go. In fact, maybe you can pick something up for Warlock too. Here. Go nuts, it’s on me.” She pulled a card from her purse. Black, shiny plastic. The mark of guilt. “You know the code, right?”

“Yes, I do. But you don’t have to, I can stay here with-”

“Don’t make me feel any more guilty. Please. Just take it. And have fun, as much as you can, that is. “

“Young Warlock has never been a grievence to my ‘fun’, Mrs. Dowling, I doubt he’ll start today.”

“ Thank you.”

A male voice called from downstairs, and Harriet’s barely contained eyeroll turned to a kind smile in Crowley’s direction.

Oh, no therapist could fix _that._ Still:

“It’s admirable, that you’re trying. For Warlock.”

“What?” She blinked.

“Like you said, gossip.” It had quickly flown around, the news of an argument on a day where Warlock was out in the park. A secretary, or an attaché, possibly _and_ an attaché. Broken scotch glasses, screams, and an office couch that was slept in for some time. “But it’s very noble of you to try.”

She smiled sadly and left without another word. For all the respect Crowley had for Harriet, she faded around her husband.

Because Crowley did respect Harriet, against all her best efforts. After all, how could she not? Harriet Dowling’s role was good wife and corporate eye candy, and she’d turn it around to regain some power of her own, get a say on how things were done, be listened to, for once.

She tried her best as a mother, too, in the beginning, even if she wasn’t a natural at it. She’d read all the books, taken all the classes and seen every documentary, and in the end she’d caved in and hired a nanny. For some time, she’d bordered on negligence, Crowley had to stop herself from gritting her teeth every time they met. But a few years later, she’d come back around. Toddlers are rough but they beat newborns anyday. So, Harriet had gotten closer to her son, watching the way Nanny Ashtoreth did some things, slowly giving her more time off so she could spend time with Warlock herself.

Hell was very fond of the idea of a neglected child. Crowley found it rather wonderful that Harriet tried her best.

Honestly, the woman deserved an award just for putting up with that husband of hers.

Crowley knocked on Warlock’s bedroom door and found him playing with his toy cars on the mat.

He’d gotten an awfully expensive race car track for Christmas. He’d asked for a space shuttle Lego set after he heard Nanny’s tales about the stars.

He insisted on not using the track.

Aziraphale had given him _just an old book I found in me shed, master Warlock, not much._ It was an early edition of an astronomy manual used at Oxford. Aziraphale had miracled it to never be ruined, even in the hands of a six-year-old. Crowley had thanked for her glasses that day and had put Warlock to bed over funny pictures of meticulously drawn on stars.

“Good morning, little Hellspawn, how are we today?”

“Nanny!” He grinned, then he squinted, “it’s your day off, I’m spending the day with mommy, and dad said something about baseball, too, but he’s probably gone already.” He waved off, “Why are you here?”

“Now is that any way to treat your Nanny? Do you wish me to leave? “

“NO!” he jumped up, and Crowley melted a bit inside, “I was curious.”

“Your mother and father are... out, today, so you’re spending the day with me.”

“Nice! Where are we going?”

“Well, I do believe I need a new evening dress, don’t I? I hardly think cucumber soup is a good look on me.” She raised an eyebrow, lips in a thin line, trying hard not to smile at the boy’s outrage.

“But you said to do something about it if I didn’t like the food.”

It had been a business dinner. One of the few happening with the whole family, but the French Embassator had brought his family to England and assumed it would “ _make matters more casual if it's just a big family dinner, you know?”_

A black-tie family dinner with a Nanny called in because suddenly the three children were a bother, but a _family_ dinner, nonetheless.

In her defence, “doing something” had been a way of trying to trigger his powers, test the waters. She was glad when Warlock took the human route instead, but rather bummed about the dress. She couldn’t simply miracle it clean without drawing suspicions.

“I did say that, and I’m very proud of you for it, but the fact remains, I need some evening wear.”

Warlock considered that. His Nanny didn’t seem angry at him, so he smiled.

“Now.” She clapped once, for emphasis, if anyone asked, but to also shut down the, at the very least, five electronic devices buzzing or beeping in the boy’s room, “Shall we?”

She led the boy downstairs by the hand. Outside, Aziraphale waited by the Bentley, disguise still in place.

“Is brother Francis coming too?” Warlock asked, excited. He _knew_ Nanny and Brother Francis liked each other, _he knew it, he knew it, he knew it._

“I’m afraid not, young master.” He said, quickly getting over his confusion and plastering on his accent, “I simply need a word with Nanny.”

Aziraphale pulled her aside, silently asking for an explanation.

“The parents are in therapy, Mrs. Dowling asked if I could stay with him. Sorry, angel, lunch’s off. “

“That’s alright. Another day then, I can very well wait. Unlike, you know...” he suggestive nodded to the ground, which even without the disguise was weird enough.

Crowley stifled a laugh:

“No reports to headquarters today, they’re not big fans of checking up. You?”

“A request for my presence from Michael, this morning.” He nodded.

Aziraphale swallowed dry and fidgeted. Crowley placed his hands between hers, reassuringly. She noted the contrast, slim fingers against strong hands, pale skin and blood red nails against golden sun kisses and remnants of dirt. So different they were.

She looked at him silently. There was nothing she _could_ say. Every time either of them was called there was tension in the air, a weight in the other’s heart and a small “what if” in the back of their minds.

She couldn’t bring herself to say that it’d be alright. They didn’t know. But she hoped it would be, and at the end of the day, that’s all they had.

They parted, and Crowley returned to Warlock’s side:

“Alright, little Hellspawn, back seat.”

“But it’s more fun here.”

“I do not feel like getting arrested, Warlock. Back. Seat.”

“But-”

“You can’t have ice-cream in the front seat.” Her voiced turned sing song for a bit, and Warlock climbed in the back seat with a whispered _yes!_

..........

The ice cream parlor had been packed, and Crowley had decided to use it as a teaching opportunity and cut in line.

(she did leave a generous tip to the girl that took her order, if only as compensation for the amount of complaints she was about to get. The poor girl had been so nice.)

An idea struck her, suddenly, and she asked the cashier to exchange the bill for pennies.

“why do you want all these, anyway?” The boy asked, as he shakily handed her the small coins.

“Well, that’s between me and them, isn’t it?”

However disregard for the rules she might like to teach Warlock, it’d be a crime to get chocolate ice cream on beautiful dresses, so they walked outside for a bit.

When they finally walked in, Warlock looked around, half amused, half annoyed:

“It looks weird.” He pointed at a dress in the window. Crowley couldn’t blame him. The _Tudors_ had collars less complicated than that, and she’d helped invent those.

“Welcome to couture.” She shrugged instead.

Crowley was vain. And she was proud of it. She liked fashion, she liked changing things around with her outer looks. It’s why she jumped around genders every now and then, too. So many possibilities and the mortals grabbed one and went with it their whole lives, what a waste.

So, Crowley liked fashion, and fashion most certainly liked her. Just the thought of wearing the same jacket for almost a hundred years almost made her want to discorporate on the spot (she’d said that to Aziraphale on multiple occasions, but he was almost as stubborn as she was.) The fact that fashion liked her made the next bit easy.

Nanny Ashtoreth style was... More conservative, than Crowley’s usual tastes, but she made do and ignored the backless floor-length blood red dress in one of the mannequins.( She’d had a similar one in the fifties, Aziraphale cheeks had rivalled the fabric when he’d seen her for the first time.)

Conservative tastes or not, no dress gets purchased without a proper fitting, and Warlock wanted in on the fun:

“Boooo! It’s puke color!” He argued at one.

The shocked employee opened and closed his mouth and took the dress away, grumbling that it was _a rather particular shade of emerald, very rare in fact._

After many tries, they left the store with a black dress with dark red embroidery in the sleeves. Covered back, no slit up the leg, a rather modest neckline, Nanny’s style. Crowley added the backless dress to her mental library of future experiments.

“Your turn, now, darling.” She smiled and they entered a children’s clothing store.

Warlock had never been shopping with Nanny. Mom came with him. She bought him simple “stylish” clothing. The kind with tiny logos over his chest and a warning to wash only in one specific way.

Nanny got him a Transformers shirt. She got him dinosaur socks and a batman jacket.

“Now, remember. Batman is better than Superman, because... “

“Because Batman is cool! And superman is a boring goodie two shoes.”

“Precisely.”

“Nanny.” He stopped her when she headed for the teller, “Can- Can I have a dress, too?”

“Warlock. What have I said about asking for things?”

“Right.” He straighted up and stomped his foot, “I want a dress!”

The menacing pout on his face was so cute that Crowley didn’t even try to fight her smile:

“Atta boy, come on, dresses are over there.”

Warlock’s dress was red. It had black polka dots and (after a little demonic intervention) pockets big enough for all the things one could pick up in the woods on a summer afternoon. It was after all, his only summer dress.

“See? Now we match.” He twirled around, stomping his light-up sneakers in the store’s wooden floor.

Nanny returned his smile.

........

Lunch was near the park. She’d planned to be back home, but Warlock had steadily begun chanting _McDonald’s, McDonald’s, McDonald’s,_ and Crowley only had so much will power.

When she threw out the packages, she noticed the change from that morning on the Bentley’s dashboard and grinned.

“Warlock. I’m going to show you something.”

One stop at a hardware store later, and never had superglue been so well spent.

“Now, what, Nanny?” Warlock was practically bouncing in the passenger seat.

“Now, we wait.”

And if anyone spotted a goth Mary Poppins and a kid in a classic Bentley laughing desperately at pedestrians struggling with some strange pennies on the pavement, well, who on Earth was going to believe _that?_

The sun was still high when they came home, but it was getting late anyway. As Crowley pulled up in the driveway, a small knot formed in his stomach, that only eased when she saw Aziraphale, apparently healthy, walking up to them. 

“Hi, Brother Francis. We went shopping.” Warlock waved a small bag. His Nanny came up behind him holding all the others. “And we glued pennies to the sidewalk.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley disaprovingly. She only shrugged.

“Well, I’m glad you had fun, Master Warlock. Maybe one of these days you can spend the day helping me with the garden, eh?” even for the accent, he rolled his r’s too much, and Crowley rolled her eyes, more fond than anything else, really.

Then Aziraphale looked at her, worried. Crowley nodded and turned to Warlock.

“Your parents are home, darling. Why don’t you go ahead inside, I’ll be right in.”

Warlock ran in and Crowley walked around to the back of the house with Aziraphale:

“What happened?”

“They know who you are, Crowley. My side, they- they told me to watch out for the nanny.”

“Are they watching us now?” Her eyes widened and she looked up instinctively.

“No. No, they... They researched the staff; you were the only one who hadn’t actually worked with mortals before.”

“But why would they tell you? I thought your side wanted Armageddon as badly as mine.”

“They do. But they told me that even if I’m going to fail, I might as well not die in the process.”

“How thoughtful of them.” She mocked. “But they’re not watching us? “

“No. They don’t care enough for that.”

Crowley thought of the implications. Their main agent was on mission, possibly near a Demon every day, and as far as they knew, in danger, and they couldn't care less.

Bastards.

But Crowley was an optimist, so she _thought_ that, but what she said was:

“Well, then, angel, it could be worse. Dinner tonight? It’s still our day off. I’m thinking the Ritz.”

“Sounds lovely, my dear girl, but the Ritz is closed for a private event tonight.”

“Yes,” she grinned, “a charity auction,” she snapped her fingers and two beige envelopes appeared in her hand, “to which one Miss Ashtoreth and one Mr Fell, are courtly invited to.”

“Ah, of course.” Aziraphale smiled fondly, “Eager to try on the new dress, are we?”

Crowley blinked:

“I- how- but- the-“

“The bag is open, my dear.” He chuckled, and turned to leave, “I ll see you in a bit, then.”

Crowley walked, nearly floated, to the front door. Going undercover was always fun.

The moment she walked through the door, however, her good mood dissipated. From the living room came two voices in a shouting match. Therapy didn’t work, then. She made a point of slamming the door on her way in and rushed to Warlock’s room.

He was sitting on his bed, crying.

“Warlock, dearie, what happened?” she ran to his side, enveloping him in a hug. The boy didn’t speak for a bit, choosing to cling to her jacket and cry silently.

Warlock didn’t cry often. He threw tantrums, sure, he yelled and screeched and turned on the big ol’ emotional faucet when he wanted something, but the quiet crying of someone who cries because they can’t stop? Crowley refused to have any child in her care go through that.

Finally, the boy looked up to her:

“Dad threw away my new dress. He yelled at me, but- but I don’t know why. I just thought I looked pretty, like you. What did I do?” he wasn’t lamenting, it was a genuine question, born from confusion in the mind of a little scared boy.

Crowley hugged him tighter:

“you did nothing wrong, my dear, absolutely nothing. It’s alright, now. It’s-“

 _Over,_ she wanted to say, but she was cut short by the yelling moving up the stairs and into the hall.

“Tad, you are not firing anyone, stop being such a jerk. I won’t allow yo-“

“You!” Thaddeus Dowling stood in the doorway, every bit an arsehole as Crowley believed him to be. “You’re fired!” all of him spelled anger, from the clenched fists, to the pulsing vein in his neck, but not his mouth, he had a twisted satisfied smile rolling in his lips at the word _fired._

Crowley reigned in all her self-control to not turn him to a pile of mush and smiled:

“I highly doubt that is the case.” She was calm, or at least he saw her calm.

“What?” he on the other hand, was on his limit.

“In any case, allow me to check. Mrs. Dowling?” she turned to the woman.

“What?” More of a question than her husband’s had been. An actual question. He really threw her off her balance.

“Am I fired?” she asked earnestly.

“I-” and then she caught on. The frown turned serene, she straightened her shoulders and spoke calmly, “No, you’re not.”

“See, Mr. Dowling? You must have made some sort of confusion.”

“Look here, lady. I don’t care how much power you think you have in this house, you’re wrong. You bought him a _dress._ ” He spat the last word and Crowley imagined him slowly choking to death right where he stood.

“And a shirt, and a jacket, and a few pairs of socks. We also had lunch if you want to include it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I assume your problem is of a financial nature, you can take it out of my wages. The lunch sounds a bit extreme since it is my day off, but-“

“My problem isn’t money! My problem is that you bought a dress for my _son._ I refuse to raise a f-”

“Mr. Dowling!” she got up, Warlock’s tiny, shaking arms sliding from under hers, “I advise you to seriously reconsider the word that is about to leave your lipsss.” Her tongue got away from her, and she could feel the white of the eyes slowly disappearing under the glasses.

Thaddeus had the expression _or what_ on the tip of his tongue, it was on its way out of his mouth, but something about this woman deterred him. Suddenly she didn’t look as small as he remembered, or as... Nanny-y. To his eyes she barely looked human.

He swallowed his words, fear knotting his throat.

“This is ridiculous” a bad save. “I have a flight to catch.”

“Of course you do.” Said three voices in unison.

Warlock’s was tiny, as tiny as his hand felt grabbing Crowley’s sleeve. Not at all surprised and a smidge relieved

Harriet’s was a huffed and mocking _obviously, what was I expecting?._

Crowley’s was seething. The will to turn into her snake form and bite barely contained.

When the man left, Warlock sniffled and hugged his Nanny’s legs.

Harriet’s heart visibly broke a little at that, but the boy was quick to run to her as well.

She hugged him tight and wiped his tears:

“Why won’t you go and wash up for dinner, honey. We’ll have pizza.”

Warlock smiled, sniffling, and ran to the bathroom.

“Son of a-”

“Language please, Warlock has very good hearing.” Nanny interrupted Harriet.

“You’re right. God, I can’t believe he’d do this. What an asshole!”

“I take it you don’t have a problem with it, then?”

“What, with the dress? God, no. Warlock’s six, last week he wore a full panda outfit for two days. I mean, if he was going to school, I might worry a bit, kids are mean sometimes, but even then. He’s a kid.”

Crowley only nodded in response.

“Besides, if I’m to be honest, if it’d piss off Tad, I’d buy him a skin-tight rainbow sequin suit.”

The eyebrow shot up again. Laced with amusement, this time.

“Thats not a good thing to say, is it?” Harriet grimaced.

“No, it really isn’t. But one understands.” Crowley couldn’t really give any other answer, could she?

Harriet sighed, a strangled sob in the mix.

“Mrs. Dowling? Why don’t you go and take a bath, relax a bit. I’ll take care of Warlock. You two can have your day tomorrow.”

“I- yeah, that sounds good. Thank you, Nanny Ashtoreth.”

She smiled gently until the woman turned away, sparing then a moment to make sure Thaddeus’ car had a flat tire in the middle of nowhere.

Warlock came out of the bathroom, dragging his feet.

“Nanny? I don’t want to have dinner with mom and dad.”

“It’s alright, darling. Your dad left. And your mother is going to bed early. It’s just us.”

“Crowley, are you rea- Oh.” Aziraphale stopped in front of the open door on his way to Crowley’s room. He looked at Warlock and noticed his puffy eyes.

“Oh, dear, what happened?”

“His dad’s a dick, that’s what.” Crowley mumbled.

“What?” The boy looked up.

“She said dinner.” Aziraphale piped in, “do you want some help making it?”

“You’re having dinner with us, brother Francis?” Warlock smiled. Weak, but it was there.

“Well, may I?”

“Yes!” Crowley clinged onto the life-preserver Aziraphale had just thrown her, she really didn’t feel like retelling the episode. “I think we’d both like that.”

“Oh, jolly good!” Aziraphale clapped, and took Warlock’s other hand “I’m an excellent cook, you know, master Warlock?”

He made the mistake of looking up at Crowley, whose mocking grin was locked and loaded:

“Really? Tell me, Brother Francis, how does one go about peeling an onion?”

Aziraphale looked like someone had stabbed him and both Crowley and Warlock burst out laughing.

It was a good dinner.

They sat on the couch to watch treasure planet afterwards, and then Atlantis, because it was the next on the DVD pile, and then Atlantis II because _we can’t watch just one, Nanny, it doesn’t work!_

Somewhere halfway through it, Warlock fell asleep. Crowley told the whole story. Aziraphale made sure that wherever Thaddeus Dowling was waiting for his tow truck, rain was pouring. And he couldn’t close the windows of his oh-so-beloved Lexus.

It wasn’t ideal, but it helped with stress relief.

Crowley picked up Warlock and tucked him into bed.

“Come on, my dear.” Aziraphale nudged her out of the boy’s room and into her own. “You need to sleep.”

“Need? Sure. Can? Different matter entirely.”

“Do you want me to stay?” He asked. Voice as soft as his smile.

“If you like.” She smiled, looking away.

It was an old dance. Each under the excuse of indulging the other. Never admitting they just made each other feel safer.

Aziraphale sat in bed and snapped his fingers, a book materializing in his lap. Crowley slid in next to him, her hair a fiery halo on the pillowcase.

They didn’t really remember the first time they had done this. But they did it when the humans became... Too much. Too petty, too cruel, too mean.

Crowley felt that this was one of these days. The confused look on Warlock’s face broke her heart every time she thought about it.

And then she looked at Aziraphale, and she remembered Warlock’s laughter when he’d spun a piece of pizza dough into the floor, feigning clumsiness, and the too much of humans became just a little less.

They’d all be alright eventually. And until then. There were always shopping days and late dinners.

Not a bad way to spend the end of days.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love <3  
> And also a way to prompt the next installment of this series, which you can also request in a neat little ask on [Tumblr](https://thefantasticsuperouatgirl.tumblr.com/)


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